Page 6 of 28

The Three Authors of April, Part 1: Colson Whitehead

June 13, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Image copyright: editrrix from NYC, CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Way back in April, I attended three live author events, and I did not once get Covid. One was virtual, but still, it was a good run.

Initially, I planned to cover them all in one article. However, since each event was so informative and unique, I decided to write a three-part series instead. We begin on April 6th with Colson Whitehead.

The Author

Colson Whitehead is one of four authors in history who’s won two Pulitzer Prizes for Fiction, and he’s the only author ever to earn them consecutively. He’s written for the New York Times and The New Yorker, and in 2002, he was awarded a MacArthur Genius Grant.

To my shame, I’ve only read one Whitehead book: The Noble Hustle, a nonfiction account of the author’s forays into the world of professional poker. It was funny, witty, and well written, so I was pleased to learn the author would be speaking at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. (Bonus points if you can spell “Rensselaer” without spellcheck. I can’t.)

The Event

I attended this one from my couch. No, it wasn’t via astral projection—I watched on YouTube. Best seat in the house.

Whitehead himself attended via Zoom, though I understand he was initially scheduled to join live. He was, however, recovering from a recent bout of Covid, hence the remote attendance. He drank water and cleared his throat constantly throughout, so by the end I felt bad for the poor guy!

This was an event for writing students at RPI, so Whitehead began with advice. His overriding message was simple yet important: “Keep going. Stick with it.”

This sentiment resonates with me, especially now that I’ve completed my most recent novel. Some days I have a definite feeling of, So now what? I don’t yet know the answer, but there’s only one way to find it. Keep going and stick with it.

Whitehead then discussed his inspirations for his novels, including The Underground Railroad. The book began by taking the phrase “underground railroad” and making it literal. What if there was a railway under the earth that transported slaves? He internalized the idea for sometime, afraid to commit it to paper. Eventually, he decided “the one you’re afraid to do is the one you should maybe be doing.”

Now that is a revelation. If you’re afraid of a book, it’s probably because you know it’s important. In Colson Whitehead‘s case, his fear inspired a masterpiece.

Regarding his most recent novel, Harlem Shuffle, he wondered, “Can I do a heist book? I gave myself permission.” Again, here we see Whitehead’s overriding ideology: Write what interests you.

That’s an important reminder for indie authors like me, since we get preoccupied with trends. What works for some can work for many, sure. But if we conform to conventions rather than giving ourselves permission to write the books we’re most afraid of, we must be, to borrow a metaphor from the world of The Noble Hustle, leaving some chips on the table.

The Q&A portion came next, and someone asked what his next project would be. He said he’s deciding between two: a romance story and a sci-fi story. To study, he’s watching The Golden Girls and Star Wars. This was one of several answers where I honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking.

The topic of Star Wars sparked some of my favorite bits from the whole event. Whitehead cited all the technological achievements of the Star Wars universe, light sabers and interplanetary travel and cryogenic freezing, and yet he wants to know why (and I’m quoting here) “R2-D2 can’t get a fuckin’ voicebox, I just don’t get it.” He then likened jawas to “space crackheads,” a comparison that seems apt (not that I’ve met many crackheads—or jawas, for that matter).

There were several more questions, yet one stood out to me most. When asked about the intersection of reading and writing, Whitehead said this: “Read to find out what kind of writer you want to be. Write to find out what kind of writer you are.”

The Takeaways

I’m going to continue writing what interests me, particularly those ideas I’m most afraid of. I’m going to read more Colson Whitehead books (I’ve got Harlem Shuffle on the shelf). I’m going to keep reading and writing. And you know what? I’m going to avoid space crackheads.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include three books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Two Truths and a Lie, “Eggs for the Ageless” Style

June 5, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Two Truths and a Lie with Eggs for the Ageless

Remember “two truths and a lie,” that game you play at summer camp and/or college orientation? Now you can play it with Eggs for the Ageless!

The game is simple. In honor of a dozen eggs, I’ve got a dozen statements for you, each with three possible answers. Two are true, and one is false. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to identify the lies. Just click your pick, then click “Submit,” and the answer will appear.

Hope you learn a little more about the book and have some fun along the way. Without further ado…

Two Truths and a Lie #1

Two Truths and a Lie #2

Two Truths and a Lie #3

Two Truths and a Lie #4

Two Truths and a Lie #5

Two Truths and a Lie #6

Two Truths and a Lie #7

Two Truths and a Lie #8

Two Truths and a Lie #9

Two Truths and a Lie #10

Two Truths and a Lie #11

Two Truths and a Lie #12

Hope you had fun! As mentioned, Eggs for the Ageless is available on ebook, paperback, and hardcover. Grab your copy today!

“Eggs” by the Numbers

May 23, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

At long last, my new book, Eggs for the Ageless, in on sale. To celebrate, I crafted a fun little infographic to share some stats behind the book. Hope you enjoy it!

Eggs for the Ageless

Get your copy of Eggs for the Ageless!

This Mother’s Day, Meet the Moms of “Eggs for the Ageless”

May 8, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Art by Casey Gerber

Hey reader, Happy Mother’s Day!

Today, I’d like to introduce you to the moms from my upcoming book, Eggs for the Ageless. They may not have Mother’s Day where they’re from, but we’ll celebrate nonetheless. Here we go!

Sarene, Traveling Holy Devoted

Sarene is our main character Egg’s mother. She’s a Holy Devoted of the Ageless, which is similar to a nun. She’s super into it.

In fact, Sarene’s zeal for religion drives a wedge between herself and her daughter. Their conflict mirrors the overarching conflict in the novel itself.

What does Sarene look like? Let’s take it from the text:

She was stern and severe with a heron’s build and differently colored eyes: one brown, one blue. Her head was shaven, revealing a smooth scalp with a halo of runic tattoos—12 of them, each representing one of the Dozen Gods and Goddesses.

And here are a few random quotes from Sarene that should give you a sense of her personality:

“Live your life as long as it lasts, Zeggara,” said her mother, passing the manuscript across the desk. She patted her daughter’s hand. “And do some good with the life you’re given.”

“Do you believe [your father is] truly gone, Zeggara?” [Sarene] seemed genuinely curious. “When a person dies, do you believe all that comes after is…nothingness?”

“I…I don’t know.” Egg wished she had a better answer.

“I don’t believe it. I refuse to believe it. So I chose to believe in the Ageless instead. I believe in another life, a happier one. I believe I’ll hug your father again. You will, too, after your Devotion.”

Sarene is one of the most dynamic characters in the novel, and therefore one of the most challenging to write. No spoilers, but she plays an antagonistic role in the first act, appears rarely in the second, then takes a leading role in the third. In basketball terms, she’s got a variable usage rate.

Fun fact: Sarene was absent from this story’s first draft. Only when I rewrote it two years ago did I create her, and I’m glad I did. She serves an essential role of generating religious tension for our main character.

Sturnella, Sadly Deceased

Sturnella is wife to Rulf (vicious tyrant) and mother to Rulf Junior (not-at-all-vicious heir to the empire). She’s already died when our story begins but, spoiler alert, she makes a brief cameo. Perhaps in a flashback, perhaps in a dream, or perhaps some other way. Hmm…

Anyhoo, enough cryptic clues. Here’s what Sturnella looks like:

[Sturnella] appeared to be about Egg’s mother’s age, though she had far more hair: Long auburn locks knotted into patterns a weaver might envy. Her dress was equally impressive, purple cloth and golden lace, with a fringe of hanging gems that chimed when she moved.

I won’t give away any more Sturnella quotes, lest I ruin the surprise. Here’s what I will say: Her name comes from a genus of “North American grassland birds called meadowlarks.” I found that on Wikipedia, so it must be true.

Giving Sturnella the proper presence was challenging. As mentioned, she only gets one scene, so I needed to make that scene memorable. Not sure I achieved that, so you’ll have to let me know.

Lira, Goddess of Order

If Lira was played by an actress, it would be Judi Dench. In other words, she’s a hardass. For example, here’s an exchange between her son, Rismo, and her son’s buddy, Trast:

“On a scale from one to 10,” Rismo asked aloud, “how mad is she going to be?”

“Knowing your mother,” Trast answered, “I think that scale’s too small.”

As you can see, Lira is not the most forgiving mom. Nor is she especially nurturing, understanding, or reassuring. However, she is efficient and meticulous, and she knows how to run a world. Just take this mini monologue:

“This is not the first world my soon-to-be-former husband and I founded. There was another, less successful world. One without rules and repercussions.”

“But Mother,” said Rismo. “You love rules and repercussions.”

“There’s a reason for that. This prototype world was your father’s idea. He wanted a land of boundless creation, a place where imagination and reality were one. All he wanted to do was create. ‘Let the chef cook’—I believe that’s the expression he used.

“But this world of Flor’s didn’t function. Without gravity to tether its people, they came unstuck from the ground and floated off into nowhere. Without time to mark their days, lives passed in the span of a sentence—or never ended. Without death, people suffered hunger and thirst and crippling old age, yet never found relief or rest. The prototype failed. Do you understand why?”

“Because Flor should’ve written from an outline?” Trast tried.

“Because creation needs order. Because every action causes a reaction. Because laws must be made and upheld.”

Well, at least now you can see why she’s such a stickler for the rules.

So there you have it. You’ve met the moms of Eggs for the Ageless. If you’d like to read more about them, feel free to buy the book, which releases eight days from today on May 16.

Finally, I’d like to wish a happy Mother’s Day to my mom, stepmom, mother-in-law, aunts, sister-in-law, cousins, and friends. And a special Mother’s Day wish goes to my wife, because this is her very first Mother’s Day as a mom. Enjoy your day, Sara!

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Portrait of a Writer at Work

April 22, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Portrait of a Writer at Work

Short blog post for you this week, detailing a short look at a very short story. A 10-word story, to be exact.

The Assingment

I’m a member of The Alliance of Independent Authors, an organization that just celebrated its 10-year anniversary. To commemorate the occasion, they hosted a 10-word story competition. Considering my short attention span, this sounded appealing. So, I got to work.

The Process

You’d think writing 10 words would be easy, but I found it harder than writing 10,000 times that number (I would know—that’s the length of my upcoming book.) Here are a few of my attempts:

She thought it was seaweed—until it grabbed and pulled.

The advertisements bemoaning the vaccine for advertisements regrettably didn’t work.

“I dreamed you were dead.”

“I’m not dead.”

“Okay, phew.”

As you can see, these ranged from iffy to downright horrendous. Writing a story with 10 words is like constructing a house with 10 materials, or painting a mural with 10 brushstrokes.

Finally, after about 10 duds, I wrote this:

Procrastinate. Tweet. Daydream. Delete. Behold, a paragraph! Break time. Repeat.

I called it “Portrait of a Writer at Work”—not that I liked it much, either. I kept writing, kept failing, and when the deadline loomed, I scrolled through my failures and decided the story above was the best I could do. I sent it, and evidently, someone like it.

The Result

My piece cracked the contest’s top 10! Alas, I didn’t win, but that’s quite alright. It was exhilarating to hear my name called on a livestream.

Hope you enjoyed the final product. Maybe I’ll write more in the future…

Another Sneak Peek at “Eggs for the Ageless”

April 11, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Eggs for the Ageless

Eggs and deserts might be a strange match—except in the world of Eggs for the Ageless.

This all-new comic fantasy novel arrives May 16, 2022. In the meantime, I’ve got to blog about something. So, I’d love to share a chapter of the book with you.

A live version of this excerpt is available here. However, if you’d rather not hear me repeat the word “umm” several times, you’ll prefer the written version below. Anyhoo, without further ado, here’s Chapter Two of Eggs for the Ageless, entitled “A Meeting of (Most of) the Dozen.” Hope you enjoy it!

Lira, Goddess of Order, cleared her throat. “Your father and I have an announcement to make.”

“An important announcement,” her husband clarified.

Lira shot him a venomous look. She wore her long hair tied neatly into a spiraling braid which hung over one shoulder. Her forehead contained a vein that had been throbbing for several thousand years or so, and never more vigorously than during family meetings. Like this one.

She noticed her husband’s throne was not quite aligned with hers; a hair of a degree off, by her estimation (which was of course perfectly accurate). So Lira snapped her fingers. Her husband’s throne jerked into place.

Her husband’s name was Florinioniorius. He was a plump god adorned in a robe of starlight and boots of midnight. A beret spun from strands of dream was stuffed over his curly mop of dark hair. He was called God of Life, Creator of Creation, Author of It All, and many other bombastic self-appointed titles nobody used but him. Most just called him God of Creation.

Florinioniorius’s eyes changed color depending on his mood. As they narrowed on his wife, they turned red. But when his gaze swept over their children standing before them, his eyes turned a vibrant orange. He scooted his throne back where it had been, then stroked the silver quill tucked behind his ear. It was the quill he’d used to create everything.

Lira and Florinioniorius (we’ll call him “Flor” from now on, to save paper) had hundreds of children, all of them Ageless. Among those hundreds, the first 10 were known as the Dozen (with Lira and Flor making 12). And of those 10, eight were in attendance. Those eight children presently stood in a half-arc around their parents. Above them hung the crystalline dome of the Council Chambers, and above that a dome of purple clouds that kept out the oppressive sun. Far below awaited the realm of the mortals (where Egg and her mother lived). The Ageless called it “Downstairs.”

Lira and Flor were human-shaped. Among their eight attending children, some were and some weren’t. One, for example, had a cluster of eyeballs in place of a head. Another sported three pairs of feathery wings and was now combing them with a brush. Another had a tiny, cone-shaped head atop a hulking, angular body. The most humanoid among the children was a curvy woman with red hair, red robes, and red ruby rings, one of which she twisted around her finger. Her name was Laléna, and she was Goddess of Love.

“Mother?” Laléna asked. “Father? Is everything alright? What sort of announcement is this?”

“Let me guess,” said a god whose bod was composed of swords, spears, daggers, and all manner of pointy objects. “There’s a fight brewing. Am I right? Sweet, I knew it. I’ll gather a host and meet you Downstairs.”

“No, War,” Lira answered. “No fighting.”

The God of War, who’d given himself the imaginative name “War,” peered down sullenly at his shoes. They were made of razor blades.

A Goddess with hair composed of kelp and tanned skin verging on orange spoke next. “I’ve got a guess. We’re installing a new beach down there, aren’t we?”

“Good guess, Idos,” said Flor, winking one orange eye. “But no new beaches needed. Maybe another time, m’dear.”

Idos, Goddess of the Sea, peered down sullenly at her shoes. They were flip-flops.

“Is this a recognition banquet in my honor?” asked a goddess with green skin of a bark-like texture, along with several toadstools sprouting from her cheek. Two crows sat on her shoulders, and a monkey sat on her head. “Or a good-natured roast? Perhaps a surprise party?”

“No, Grimgrumble,” Lira sighed. “It isn’t even your birthday.”

Grimgrumble, Goddess of the Wilds, peered down sullenly at her shoes—or would have, if she ever wore any.

“We have summoned you all here today,” Lira practically shouted, vein pounding in her forehead, “because your father and I have an announcement to make. We need to tell you that—”

“Ahem,” said Flor.

Lira glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just…who’s telling them? Me or you?”

“I was about to. Then you interrupted me.”

“That wasn’t interrupting, that was me clearing my throat.”

“My ass. I know what it was, it was—”

“Mother,” Laléna interjected. “Father. We just want to know why you summoned us here. From either of you.”

The world’s original power couple glowered at each other for what seemed like eons. Finally, Flor waved a hand in concession. Lira nodded.

“Your father and I,” she boomed, “are getting a divorce.”

Silence. That’s what came next. Complete, awed, disbelieving silence. Ten whole seconds of it, during which existence itself seemed to hold its breath. (Who knows? Maybe it did.)

One god finally broke that silence: The one with three sets of feathery wings. Windbag was his name, and he was God of Air. He raised his wings along with his hand.

“Divorce?” he asked. “What does that word mean again?”

Mountain, God of Earth, who had the cone-shaped head and the angular body, whispered the correct answer. He had to whisper, otherwise he’d cause an earthquake. Unfortunately, he whispered so quietly that no one heard him.

So War, God of War, ventured a guess instead. “Divorce is a breed of dog, Windbag, you dummy. Mom and Dad are getting us a puppy.”

“Nope,” said a goddess who had hitherto been silent. She wore muddy boots and a big hat with a tall yellow feather in it. Faraway was her name, and she was Goddess of Travels. “Not a dog. Divorce is a term coined by the mortals. Means Mother and Father are splitting up.”

“That’s correct, m’dear,” Flor confirmed. “Your mother and I are parting. We’ve had enough of each other. And frankly, enough of this world. I created it, yes, but I yearn for a new project.” He patted the silver quill tucked behind his ear. “I’d hate to be remembered as an author with only one book.”

“You created this world,” Lira snorted. “But I kept it going. The whole damn time.”

Flor’s eyes turned red again, though he managed to unstick them from his wife (soon to be ex). He smiled at his children. “We’re leaving two essential posts empty: Mine, as God of Creation, and your mother’s, as Goddess of Order. Therefore, we’re conducting tryouts for our replacements.”

Lira glared at her husband (soon to be ex, also). “We agreed to call them interviews. Not tryouts.”

“‘Interview’ sounds so stodgy. Tryouts are fun! Besides, why do you care so much?”

“Father,” interjected Laléna, ever the voice of reason. “Mother. Let’s back up a moment. Is divorce really the answer? Can’t love find a way?”

“No!” snapped Lira and Flor simultaneously. It was perhaps the first time they’d agreed on anything in several millennia.

The god with the head made of eyeballs spoke next—or would have, had all those eyeballs left any room for a mouth. Instead, he wrote a message on a scrap of parchment, then passed it to Laléna, who read it aloud. She said: “Infinity wants to know when the interviews are being held.” (Infinity, by the way, was the God of Knowledge.)

“Soon,” answered Flor, at the same time Lira said, “Immediately.” They exchanged several dirty looks, then Lira continued.

“We shall consider all of you gathered here today, as well as your sister Coda, who’s working right now and couldn’t attend. We would’ve considered your brother Hylus, too, but…” She trailed off, cleared her throat, took a moment to gather herself. “Any other questions?”

Several divine hands shot up. Lira massaged the vein in her forehead. “We’ll make appointments with each of you individually.”

“Thanks for coming, m’dears and m’boys,” said Flor. “Good luck at your tryouts!”

That was their cue to leave. And so, they did. Another happy reunion for the world’s original dysfunctional family.

I’m Changing My Pen Name to Squm

April 1, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

April Fools

Samuel Clemens became Mark Twain. Lew Alcindor became Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Sméagol became Gollum. And today, Kyle A. Massa becomes Squm.

There are several reasons I’ve settled on this new pen name, and in today’s article, I’d like to enumerate them. Here’s a free reason: Squm was my invented gamer tag for Super Smash Bros. Melee way back in the day. For more, keep reading.

Squm is Thrilling

You might recall my old name, Kyle A. Massa. Unless you’re wondering what happened to the -Chusetts, it’s a pedestrian name. Time for a rebrand.

Squm Has Nice Search Engine Potential

If you Google Squm right now, you’ll find Urban Dictionary results that are, shall we say, obscene. But that’s to be expected from Urban Dictionary. Plus, there is a pretty positive definition from December 2020:

“A hip word to describe a whacky occurrence – More commonly used as an exclamation.

Did you see that thing Mimi said? Holy SQUM was that weird.”

See? People already dig the name. Also, FYI, I’m still securing my new domain. www.squm.com is currently a French website with the following acronym:

Service
Qualité
Usinage
Maintenance

I wouldn’t recommend a visit, since my browser tells me this site isn’t secure. Don’t worry—it will be once I buy the URL.

Squm is Enigmatic

Is that a male or female name? Is it even a name, or just a typo? Is the person who invented it a complete weirdo? These are some questions that will no doubt occur to readers when they read my new name. All for the better.

Squm Looks Good on a Cover

Just look at my updated books:

Behold the space I’m saving! Now I’ll have more room for quotes about what a cool name Squm is.

Squm is Catchy

Don’t you just love saying Squm? I sure do. My wife does, too. She calls me Squm about 30% of the time (this is not an exaggeration, you can ask her). From now on, call me Squm 100% of the time.

Squm Rhymes with Rum

Point of clarification: Rum makes me a little queasy. Even so, many other people enjoy it (Jack Sparrow, for instance), meaning they might draw a positive association from me.

…Or they might recall a puke-laden college bender. But who am I to judge?

Squm is Pithy

Countless celebrities throughout history have made it big with mononyms, from Homer and Satan to Cher and Zendaya. Plus, you get to be mononymous, which means, according to Wikipedia, “an individual who is known and addressed by a single name.” If that’s not cool, I don’t know what is.

Squm is Just an April Fools’ Joke

If you haven’t checked your calendar yet, today is April Fools’ Day. I’m not really changing my pen name to Squm. However, I am running a site-wide sale on all my ebooks from now until April 10th. They’re all 50%, so feel free to browse. I promise none of them have the word “Squm” on them.

How to Take Forever to Write a Book

March 24, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Writing Tips

My new novel, Eggs for the Ageless, finally arrives on May 16, 2022. I say “finally” because it’s taken eight years to write. For context, here are some differences between then and now:

No one had yet heard of the phrase “social distancing.”
Tom Brady only had three Super Bowl titles.
“TiK ToK” was a song by Ke$ha, not a social media platform.

So, in the spirit of the classic writing advice article, here are some tips on taking forever to write your book. Take it from someone who knows.

Tip 1: Play Video Games

I recommend Pokémon or Magic: The Gathering. The latter is technically a card game, but when you play primarily on your phone or laptop, it might as well be a video game. You’ll write far less, but you’ll be rich in digital currency.

Of course, it could be worse. In high school, for example, I’d stay up until three in the morning playing Rock Band 2. I went multiplatinum and was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, yes. But I really should’ve been writing.

Tip 2: Have a Baby

Babies are an excellent way to delay books. I mean, they’re adorable, lovable, and infinitely amazing—but they take a lot of work. Enough so that while you’re raising your child, other people are writing books about how you should be raising your child.

FYI, my daughter Sasha was born last fall, so that’s how I know this. So if you’re thinking of taking forever to write your book, try having a baby. You’ll have less writing time, but you’ll have something much better.

Tip 3: Rewrite Your Book Several Times

If you’re dissatisfied with your book, rewrite it. If you still don’t like it, rewrite it again. If you still don’t dig it, keep rewriting it until you’re happy with it. When will that be? Hah. Good question.

I did one big rewrite of Eggs for the Ageless. Though that might not sound horrible, it meant scrapping 300 typed pages for 500 typed pages, without a single sentence in common between the two. Time consuming? Yes. But it was also essential. This was the first manuscript I’d ever completed, so I had no idea what I was doing.

First off, my protagonist was a complete schlub. His name was Bart and, like my current protagonist, Egg, he wrote a book that accidentally became a religion. Problem was, Bart was whiney, aimless, and ultimately uninteresting. During the story’s climax, for example, he cracked some mediocre jokes and did little else. Furthermore, Bart’s desires were never clear. I gave him a half-assed romance plot, but it never connected to the central conflict. So, when I rewrote the book, I knew I needed a better protagonist.

I’m thrilled to say I found that protagonist in Egg. Her main goal is reconciliation with her hyper-religious mother, which symbolizes the novel’s greater conflict. It all works far better, thanks to Egg. (RIP Bart.)

So, if you’re finishing your book too fast, consider rewriting it oodles of times.

Tip 4: Work on Other Books

I was excellent at this one. After completing the first draft of Eggs for the Ageless in the summer of 2014 (at that time I called it The Gods or Dear Gods…Why Aren’t You Listening?), I embarked on other writing journeys. A brief list:

Who the Hell is Julian Strange?, which would later become my first novel, Gerald Barkley Rocks
A book with five characters in three parts, with each part set a decade apart, which will actually be releasing next year
Monsters of Dusk, a short fiction collection that was recently named a finalist for The Wishing Shelf Awards
A National Novel Writing Month project called Upstate and a While Back
An unfinished manuscript about a futuristic haunted house in which a monster runs loose

Now that’s a lot of distractions. I mean, I’m glad I wrote them (aside from the haunted house one), but they did delay the release of this work.

Tip 5: Procrastinate

This is a tried and true classic method—just ask any writer. Whether it’s Tweeting, playing with the dog, or diving down a Wikipedia rabbit hole, there’s no better way to take eight years to finished a book. Take it from someone who knows.

But no matter how long it took to write Eggs for the Ageless, it’s finally arriving on May 16, 2022. You can buy it directly from this website, or anywhere else books are sold. Hope you enjoy it!

The World Without Winter

March 9, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

The World Without Winter

Tired of the cold, salt, and snow? This article may be for you.

Full transparency: I live in New York, USA (the state, not the city). Winter here lasts from roughly November through March, so I’ll apologize for the regionalist mindset upfront. And yes, I know winter is basically absent from Florida, Mali, Tatooine, and many other places. However, for the next few minutes, we’re going to imagine it never existed anywhere.

So, in a world without winter…

…Dogs Would Be Disappointed

That’s because winter brings snow, and dogs love snow. Speaking for my dog Osi, there’s nothing better than shoving your snout beneath a drift, snuffling once or twice, then springing upward into the air as high as you can, casting down a shower of snow upon your owners, who are just trying to walk you. I assure you, all dogs would be devastated to lose moments like this.

…Christmas Would Be Far Different

Everybody digs a white Christmas, though that wouldn’t exist without winter’s snow. Neither would the Bing Crosby song, which wouldn’t be a monumental loss, because there’s such a surplus of Christmas songs as it is. However, it would’ve opened the door for some other song to win the Academy Award for Best Original Song at the 1942 Oscars. Nominees included “I’ve Got a Gal in Kalamazoo,” “Pennies for Peppino,” and “Pig Foot Pete.” I swear I’m not making these up.

Anyhoo, we’re getting off topic. Without winter, would Christmas even exist? I’m told it’s the birthday of some guy named Jesus, though it feels more like Santa’s birthday. So without winter, would we reschedule Christmas or just skip it? Have I lost credibility with you yet? Never mind, don’t answer that. Moving right along.

…Snow Plow Drivers Would Need New Jobs

I mean, I’m pretty sure you can’t do this job full-time anyway, unless you live in a place where it snows year-round (The North Pole, perhaps). But without snow plow drivers, we wouldn’t have the Mr. Plow episode of the Simpsons, and we’d all be a little sadder.

…Many Products Would Become Obsolete

A short list: Snow tires, snowshoes, snow globes, and really anything with the word “snow” in it, because without winter, there’s probably not much snow. I’m no economist, so I can’t say if the absence of these products would shift the market. However, I can say this: There would be a lot more space in my garage.

…Skiing Wouldn’t Exist

A brief aside: My dad has an alter ego. He calls himself Cliff Steep. I guarantee you’ll never guess why.

All right, I’ll tell you. In the early days of Facebook, my dad would complain about pictures of his coworkers’ dinners overrunning his newsfeed. Perhaps in retaliation, he began posting stats about his ski outings. You know, calories burned, elevation gain, stuff like that. After a few months of this, my stepmom made fun of him enough that he devised a new plan. He created a Facebook profile entirely devoted to his skiing content.

However, since Facebook is annoying and mandates a name, my dad had to devise an alter ego. Hence, Cliff Steep was born.

Fast forward to my sophomore year at Ithaca College (shoutout to the Bombers out there). I was procrastinating, as one does, when I noticed a familiar face in the “People You May Know” section. One Mr. Cliff Steep appeared, with a selfie of my dad in front of a ski lift. I clicked Cliff’s profile to inspect. He had exactly one friend: my dad.

I urged my friends to friend Cliff, but that’s not the point. The point is, there wouldn’t be skiing without winter, and there wouldn’t be Cliff Steep without skiing, and without Cliff Steep, you’d have back the 90 seconds you spent reading this not-so-brief aside.

…There Would Be Far Fewer Olympic Sports

Ice skating, alpine skiing, bobsledding, all gone. However, we all know what the greatest loss to the world would be: curling.

…Forget About Ragnarok

For those who never read Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology or watched the 2017 masterpiece Thor: Ragnarok, Ragnarok is the doomsday prophesied by the Norse myths. Basically, it snows nonstop and until everyone dies, sort of like a permanent snow day.

I mean, this is unlikely to happen even when winter exists. But still, it can’t be ruled out.

…George R.R. Martin’s The Winds of Winter Would Need a New Title

Or maybe not, because most fans believe it will never see print. In fact, if you Google this book, the top results are…

“Is The Winds of Winter ever coming out?”
“Does anyone still care about The Winds of Winter?”
“Will Winds of Winter release by 2022?”

My answers to these questions:

Hope so.
I do!
Eh, probably not.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

Winter is still with us—at least for a few more months. Until spring comes, I suppose we can dream, eh?

Read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

The Last Blog Post of My 20s

February 22, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Turning 30

On March 6, 2022, I’m turning 30. However, I suspect some part of me has always been 30.

For instance, I wear sandals with socks whenever the weather allows. I’ve prefer old music to most anything trending today (except for Lady Gaga, who’s timeless). I pre-date Facebook, Justin Bieber, and Magic: The Gathering. And as of four months ago, I became a parent.

Oddly, being a dad makes me feel young—at least for now. This is because, since my daughter Sasha is so little and she’s our first, most people call my wife and I “young parents.” Even at our most overwhelmed and sleep deprived, the mere mention of the adjective “young” makes one feel spryer (assuming “spryer” is an actual word).

But I doubt this feeling will last long. Sasha’s already said “hello,” plus her recent favorite activity is screaming incoherently, which means she’ll be talking soon. It’s only a matter of time before she asks me what my first silent movie was, or which side I fought on during the Civil War. I already know not to invite her to guess my age; I tried that when I was a counselor at a summer camp in college, and the kids guessed 44.

So I don’t feel too old yet, but I suspect I will soon. And if you couldn’t tell by the increasingly indecisive quality of this blog post, my feelings on turning 30 vary by the moment.

For instance, if I compare myself to other 30-year-olds, I’ll start feeling old—or maybe just inadequate. Derek Jeter had four World Series titles by the time he turned 30. Quick mental tally for me and…I have zero. Does this mean I’ve squandered my first three decades?

No. Of course it doesn’t! I may have spent countless hours playing Pokemon, Rock Band, and Civilization V, but that’s not the point. The point is, every 30-year-old turns 30 in their own way (unless you’re part of the 27 Club, in which case, RIP). And on March 6, it’s my turn. From then on, to borrow a phrase from Frank Sinatra, the best is yet to come.

And hey, Frank recorded that song when he was long past 30. So maybe he was onto something.